


Tangled Up in Midnight Memories (and you)

by bisexualronaldweasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming Out, Fluff, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry's Gay Awakening, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Inter-House Unity, Insomnia, M/M, Mentions of Death, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Never Have I Ever, Nightmares, Party Games, References to PTSD Symptoms, Scars, Some angst, Some pining, Supportive Ron and Hermione, Truth or Dare, Two Truths and A Lie, Yule Ball (Harry Potter), lots of fluff, mentions of trauma, socials
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:41:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26159689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualronaldweasley/pseuds/bisexualronaldweasley
Summary: In which Hogwarts brings in a Mind Healer they all desperately need, inter-house unity inspires socials, the eighth years turn socials into games of truth or dare (Thank you, Pansy), and dares turn Draco into Harry’s.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 28
Kudos: 396





	Tangled Up in Midnight Memories (and you)

**Author's Note:**

> A huge, HUGE, unending thanks to [ValravnFeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValravnFeathers/profile) for the beta - Val, you are a genius, you are an angel, and words cannot express how much I appreciate you. Thank you for catching all my consistency errors, fixing my weird wordings, and blessing this fic with all of your genius suggestions. Thank you for your constant encouragement and support - you gave me the confidence to actually post something, finally. (Any remaining errors are wholly my own!)

When Draco found Potter after the trial, he punched him in the face.

Which was quite unfortunate, really, seeing as he had been trying to thank Potter. To apologise for everything. To ask for a fresh start.

But there was something about the way Potter's curly hair had flopped in front of his face and his robes were wrinkled and Draco had felt his stomach clench and he couldn't help himself.

"Couldn't stop being the Saviour for a single bloody minute, Potter?" he spat.

Potter's face had immediately flushed. Insults were hurled. Fists were thrown. The two of them were forcibly removed from the Wizengamot.

And now they’re at Hogwarts. Again. And Potter doesn’t seem ready to let go of the fight. McGonagall is making her welcome speech, and Draco catches Potter's eye. Potter glares at him, then pointedly turns to McGonagall.

"The past year has likely been extremely traumatic for most of you," she’s saying. "We considered taking a year off of education but we understand that Hogwarts is home for many of you, and the only way to move forward is to, well, move forward.

"With that being said, we have hired a Mind Healer to assist you in your transition back into a calm, peaceful life." Draco swears McGonagall looks at Potter with that last line.

A tall, gangly wizard in dark blue robes takes this as an invitation to stand, and McGonagall politely bows her head at him and allows him to speak. He looks to be barely older than the eighth years, but Draco knows he must have gone through the five years of healer training, at the very least.

"Good morning, everyone," he says with a bright smile. "I'm Healer Vincent, but you can just call me Vince." Draco feels Greg wince next to him, and Draco holds back a grimace. Crabbe's death is still fresh in their minds.

"Everyone is welcome to stop by and say hi, even if you don't necessarily need any sessions. I'm here for you guys as a resource and a friend. That being said…." he turns to McGonagall, who nods. "We'll be starting some new initiatives this year. Mainly, inter-house cooperation, resocialization, and just general good times. We'll be starting bi-weekly socials, where everyone can get together and enjoy Hogwarts and each other's company." Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh, and these are mandatory. Let’s have a great school year!" The Healer lifts an arm in a wave and hurries back to his seat. Draco blinks. There's some applause, but most of the students seem equally stunned that they'll be forced into inter-house social events. Draco chances a glance at Potter, whose mouth is hanging open.

This should be a fun year.

\---------------------------------------

Harry knows for a fact that eighth year is going to be absolutely dreadful. 

Oh, sure, years one through seven had Voldemort, but they didn’t have forced social interactions. And, he guesses, the other years did have Malfoy, but not like Malfoy is now. He’s not the snarky kid who bullied Harry in the corridors. He’s not the depressed, quiet Malfoy from sixth year. He’s somehow… both. Malfoy is irritable, and he snaps at Harry every chance he gets, while still looking like a lost puppy. And the worst part is, he can’t say anything to Ron or Hermione, because he already did. ( _“Oh, really, Harry? Can’t you just ignore him for one year?”_ and _“Harry, if you’re going to stalk Malfoy all year again, I think I’m going to quit Hogwarts_.”)

The first social comes just a few weeks into school. Harry isn't sure what he was expecting, but he certainly wasn't expecting the Great Hall to be turned into a Muggle-style high school cafeteria, around ten students per table. It looks like Vince has assigned everyone seats such that each table only has students from the same year, but includes a mix of houses. Harry, Ron, and Hermione head to the back of the hall, where it looks like the older students are sitting. 

Vince sweeps by them, stopping to say hello. "Eighth years are at the back," he says. "Didn't think it made sense to split you guys up into smaller groups, since there's only about 15 of you. Enjoy the social!"

Neville, Dean, and Seamus are already seated when they arrive, but students from the other houses slowly trickle in. Hannah Abbott. Ernie MacMillan. Anthony Goldstein. Malfoy slips in last, along with Pansy Parkinson, Goyle, and Blaise Zabini. Every eighth year is at the table, but instead of mixing in like they’re supposed to, they’ve grouped themselves by house. Everyone seems to feel just as awkward as Harry to be all together, even if they are still next to their own houses. Harry wonders if Vince is going to make them change seats, but then the first activity is announced and they all have to get up anyways.

Their first activity is to form some sort of human rope, where they have to tangle themselves up and then untangle without releasing each other's hands. Nearly everyone in the eighth year group rolls their eyes, but not even the Slytherins complain out loud. Of course Harry ends up with Malfoy’s bony wrist tangled under his arm. Harry deliberately avoids eye contact, but Malfoy doesn’t seem to react anyways.

It's weird at first, but eventually they seem to collectively give in to the awkwardness, and by the time they're waiting for the next activity, there's actual inter-house conversations. Harry notices that Malfoy isn’t talking to anyone, barely even to his fellow Slytherins. It seems like he’s even taken a break from harassing Harry, at least for the night. They do a miniature obstacle course, they sort themselves by height and birth date, and finally Vince is giving instructions for the final activity.

"Basically, it's two truths and a lie," Vince explains. "List three facts about yourself, and your group has to guess which one is false and which ones are true. If you're already close friends with someone at your table, try not to ruin it. We want everyone to get a chance to get to know each other better."

"This should be fun," says Parkinson. "Granger, how about you go first?" 

Hermione narrows her eyes, but nods politely. "Sure," she says. "I love surfing. I suck at chess. I've never left Britain."

"Surfing is the lie," Susan Bones blurts out.

"No, chess," Parkinson cuts in. "You really think Granger could be bad at a thinking game?"

"Yeah, it's gotta be the chess thing," says Ernie.

Hermione smirks. "Nice to know you think I'm smart, Parkinson. But I do suck at chess. The lie is that I've never left Britain- I've done quite a bit of traveling."

Parkinson's eyes widen in surprise, but she doesn't retort. Hannah goes next, then Ernie, then Blaise Zabini, and then it's Harry's turn.

"Um, okay." He thinks for a moment. "I'm a really bad cook. I love treacle tart. And the Sorting Hat almost put me in Slytherin."

"Well _obviously_ the Slytherin thing is the lie," Malfoy drawls, finally participating. "At least give us a challenge." 

Harry stares at him, waiting for someone else to say anything in dissent, but no one does. "Wrong," Harry grins. "I'm an excellent cook, though."

Malfoy's jaw drops slightly. So do a few others. "You're as Gryffindor as they come, Potter," says Parkinson. "You must be shitting us."

"No shitting," Harry replies. "Go on then, your turn."

Pansy makes a noise of annoyance, then sighs, then gives a small smile. "I've slept with six of the people at this table. Two of them were atrocious. One of them was excellent." The smile turns into a smirk.

Harry lets out a small laugh, then looks over the people at the table. Malfoy's expression is a practiced type of blank. Could she have slept with Malfoy? Harry can't imagine he'd be bad. With those long limbs, and Harry's sure he must have abs from all the years of Quidditch… Harry snaps himself out of it and glances at the other boys at the table. A few of them look a bit shocked, but none look particularly nervous.

"That's highly inappropriate." Hermione purses her lips. "There are first years in here."

"So?" Parkinson's smirk gets bigger. "It's part of our game. You have to guess."

Neville, the truest Gryffindor of all of them, is the first to guess. "The lie is that two were atrocious," he offers haphazardly.

"Got it in one!" Pansy shouts. Then, she lowers her voice. "Four of them were atrocious." And then she _winks_ at Neville, and before he can react, Vince is announcing that the groups have to wrap up, the social is over. 

"I hope you all enjoyed yourselves!" he shouts. "The next social will be two weeks from now. New activities, new fun!" Harry cringes, but as he walks back to the eighth year common room with the others, he thinks how it wasn't half bad. He kind of enjoyed himself. It isn't until he lays down to sleep that he realizes Malfoy never had a turn for Two Truths.

\---------------------------------------

Draco likes having Greg as a roommate. He's quiet. Doesn't really care what Draco gets up to. But Draco thinks back to their first few years at Hogwarts, when he, Greg, and Vince stayed up all night joking and laughing and throwing things at each other. Draco hopes that Greg is okay. He can't bring himself to ask.

The castle created a new common room with attached bedrooms for the eighth years as soon as it heard the news they'd be returning. Two per room, which is nice for privacy. It seems they've laid out the room assignments so that people are mostly with their houses, but there was some overlap. Pansy, for example, is rooming with Granger.

Someone knocks on their door, and Draco opens it to find the very people he was thinking about. Pansy flounces in and sits next to Greg on his bed, and Granger stands in the doorway holding a clipboard.

"Good morning," she says formally. "Pansy and I have discussed our socials, and how the eighth year needs are different than the other years."

"We should be able to talk about sex," Pansy chimes in. "Or adult stuff. Or- the war. Without worrying if Healer Man is listening in or if the younger years can hear us too. We deserve some more privacy."

"Yes," Granger nods. Draco can barely believe they've worked together on something. "So we've created a petition that we hope everyone will sign, and then I'll bring it to Healer Vincent. We'll still do socials when they're scheduled, and work on inter-house unity, but here in our common room instead of in the Great Hall with the entire school."

“Sure, I’ll sign.” Greg gets up and grabs the clipboard from Granger. 

“Yes, of course,” Draco says. He sees that nearly every eighth year has already signed it. They must have saved him and Greg for last. Draco pretends that doesn’t bother him.

-

Healer Vincent approved their petition, and after a long speech to the eighth years about how he expects them all to do the activities, he says he trusts them and will allow the socials to occur, as scheduled, in the eighth year common room. Draco is on his way to their second social, rounding the last corner before the common room when Potter bumps into him, spilling his entire bag and knocking Draco over.

“Are you kidding me, Potter? You can’t even walk straight?”

“How was I supposed to see you, lurking behind that corner like that? What are you, stalking me?”

Draco splutters. “In your dreams, Potter. Can’t you have the common fucking decency to look where you’re going?”

“At least I have the common fucking decency not to _join a racist murder cult_ ,” Potter spits. And then the _guilt_ radiating from those green eyes is immediate. “I didn’t mean-”

Draco flushes. “Go fuck yourself, Potter,” he snaps, even though Potter’s looking like he just killed Draco’s dog and Draco _knows_ Potter didn’t really mean it, he testified at Draco’s trial for Merlin’s sake, but it still stings to hear the words. To be reminded.

The common room door opens and Granger peeks her head out. “Not to interrupt, just wanted to let you know that we can all hear you. And also that we’re ready to get started.”

Potter gets on his knees and starts picking up Draco’s spilled books and quills. After a moment of hesitation, Draco joins him, and they shuffle in to the common room together once everything’s been shoved back in his bag.

Everyone is staring at them as they enter. Draco refuses to make eye contact.

The eighth years are arranged in a circle on the floor, and Draco squeezes himself in between Pansy and Greg.

“As we promised Healer Vincent,” Granger begins, “we will still be getting to know each other and playing games. The first one for today is called Simon Says. It’s actually a Muggle game-”

“Do we have to play their games?” Pansy cuts in. “As long as we’re getting to know each other, couldn’t we do our own games?”

There are a few nods. Granger frowns, but agrees. “Fine. I guess that works.” 

Pansy grins. Draco wonders how it must be for them, living together. They seem to be… perhaps not quite friendly, but definitely civil. “Great,” Pansy starts. “Truth or dare. Granger, you first.”

Granger looks like she’s about to argue, but then says, “Truth.”

“What’s the furthest you’ve gone with Weasley?”

“Are you kidding me? Already?” Granger tightens her jaw.

“You’ve got to answer. You said truth.”

“Seriously? Can’t I get a new question?” Granger looks to the others, but everyone seems to be waiting for her to respond. Potter is laughing, the git.

“Nope. Answer away.”

Granger looks at Weasley, who shrugs. “We’ve gone all the way,” Granger says matter-of-factly, as if expecting someone to be upset with her for this. A few people whoop, and Pansy grins. “Great, you pick who’s next,” she says.

Granger picks Weasley, who admits to adopting a stray rat he found near the kitchens. Ernie MacMillan does a cartwheel. Dean Thomas eats a piece of parchment. And then it’s Draco’s turn.

“Dare,” he says. No way he’s answering any questions for the Gryffindors about the Death Eaters. Or the war. Or, really, anything.

“Hmm,” Thomas narrows his eyes. “I dare you… to show us your Dark Mark.”

Of course. Fucking Gryffindors. They just can’t help themselves. He doesn’t want them to see. Doesn’t want Potter to see. 

“Draco doesn’t have to do that,” Pansy pipes up. 

“Oh, so Hermione has to answer your invasive questions but Malfoy can’t do his dare?” Thomas challenges. Pansy looks to Draco, who sighs.

“Fine.” He pulls up his left sleeve, staring determinedly at the ground. He still hears the reactions. The gasps. Draco knows it’s not a pretty sight.

A few weeks after his trial, he had a panic attack. He couldn’t get out of his head and Voldemort was there and the pain from getting the Dark Mark was fresh like new. Draco had grabbed the nearest sharp object he could find- a butcher knife from the kitchen- and he cut out the Mark as best he could before he passed out. 

His mother had found him lying on the floor, passed out in his own blood. She rushed him to St. Mungo’s. When he came to, his left arm was nothing but a mess of torn skin and drying blood. The Healer had been kind to him. “It’s going to scar,” she said. “I will do my best, though.” And she had. All the others could see now were the scars. Not a trace of the Mark. And as gruesome as it looks, Draco’s relieved to have the snake gone.

Draco finally looks up, to faces of shock. He tries not to make eye contact with Potter but he can’t help himself. Potter’s eyes are filled with pity. Draco can’t stand it. 

“Blaise,” he says, pulling his sleeve down and trying to keep his voice smooth. “Truth or dare?”

And the game continues. They go back and forth, laughing at each other, but Draco can’t seem to focus anymore. Until Potter’s name is called.

“Dare,” he says, because of course he does.

“Okay,” says Anthony Goldstein. “I dare you to kiss Malfoy.”

Potter’s mouth drops open. “Not a chance in hell.”

Draco in years one through five, with his seemingly incurable hate crush on Potter, would have been insulted. But now? “Absolutely not,” he agrees.

“Look, I got them to agree on something! And you said it couldn’t be done.” Golstein is grinning, and Draco’s remembering the fight they had before entering the common room. Just a bet is all. Draco heaves a sigh of relief. They won’t actually make Potter kiss him.

“Well done.” Justin Finch-Fletchley gives him a pat on the back. “Well, go on now, Harry, a dare’s a dare.” Draco sighs again. So much for that.

“I’m not kissing Malfoy,” Potter replies through gritted teeth.

“You have to,” Goldstein retorts.

“I most certainly do not.”

And then, because Draco’s mouth betrays him and he’s too used to snapping at Potter, he says, “Scared, Potter?” And he instantly regrets it. Because Potter glares at him, and says “Never.” And now Potter’s coming across the circle, curly hair wild, crawling on his knees towards Draco with a look of determination, and Draco doesn’t even have time to back away before Potter’s hand is behind his neck and he’s _kissing_ Draco and it’s warm and it’s hot and it’s soft and it’s hard and Draco can’t help but gasp for air as Potter pulls away.

Potter’s emerald eyes are stark against his brown skin and he looks as breathless as Draco feels, until something shuts in his face and he stands up. “Dare completed,” Potter snaps. “Hope you all enjoyed the show.” And he stomps away to the dormitories. A door slams shut.

“Okay!” Pansy says brightly. “Who’s next?

\-------------------------------------------------

“We need to talk.” Hermione sits down on Ron’s bed and stares at Harry, who groans and sits up in his own bed. Ron is sitting next to Hermione and looking vaguely guilty.

“What?” Harry tries to sound pleasant, but it comes out groggily. He’s been sleeping all day.

“You haven’t been to class in three days, mate,” Ron tells him. Harry’s quite aware, and wants to tell Ron so, but he’s been trying to work on the sarcasm lately.

“Yes,” he says instead.

“Harry…” Hermione crosses the room and sits next to Harry. “It’s Malfoy.”

“Is that a question?”

“No. I’m telling you. We’re telling you. We know you’re moping about because of the kiss with Malfoy.”

“I’m not moping,” Harry argues halfheartedly. Hermione doesn’t respond to that.

“Harry, look, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. We’ve known since… fourth year?” She turns to Ron, who nods. 

Harry draws his eyebrows together. “Known what?”

Now Hermione looks confused. “That you’re attracted to boys, of course.”

“What?!” Harry stands up, gives her an accusing look, then turns to Ron. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

“Shit, Hermione,” Ron says, looking at her instead. “He didn’t know.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Hermione says. “We thought you moping around was because you had finally figured out that you like boys.”

“I don’t like boys,” Harry retorts, but it doesn’t come out as certain as he’d like. Hermione taps the spot next to her, and Harry sits back down.

“In fourth year, you wouldn’t shut up about how fit Cedric Diggory was,” Ron says softly.

“I- that’s not- I just- for competition reasons! He was in better shape than I was!”

“When Charlie came home for the summer, you would not stop checking him out. Isn’t that why you and Ginny broke up?” he continues.

Harry just stares at him. Was that why he and Ginny had broken up? She had never said.

And even gentler, as if she’s going to break him by saying the words, Hermione says, “And now you’ve kissed Malfoy, and you laid in bed for three days refusing to talk to anyone.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He thinks about Charlie Weasley, flying around on his broomstick outside the Burrow, no shirt on, racing Harry in the air. Harry’s stomach feels queasy, just like it did then. And then he thinks of Malfoy’s lips, and how soft they were, but firm, and how just before Harry pulled away, it seemed like he was kissing him back- and how nice it felt.

“Oh my god.” Harry puts his face in his hands. “I’m gay.”

“Yeah, mate, we know.” Ron comes across and sits on Harry’s other side. His two friends wrap their arms around him.

They stay like that for a while.

-

Harry starts going to class again. He tries to pretend everything’s the same. He goes to the library with Ron and Hermione. He does the bare minimum on his homework. He eats his meals in the Great Hall.

But everything is not the same. If he enjoyed kissing Malfoy, does that mean he’s attracted to Malfoy? 

During the trial, Malfoy had confessed to everything he had done, had turned Lucius in, had spoken with a strength of emotion that nearly had Harry moved to tears. Harry knows Malfoy regrets his role in the war. After seeing his left arm covered in ugly scars, there’s no doubt about that. But he’s still Malfoy, he’s still an asshole, and he won’t stop harassing Harry. And with the eighth years all living together, eating together, and taking all the same classes, Harry can’t escape from him.

It’s “Wow, Potter, finally decided to grace us with your presence?” It’s “Hey Potter, ever heard of a comb?” It’s “Do you ever stop eating, Scarhead?”

Harry’s stopped responding to the comments. He can’t anymore. He looks up at Malfoy’s face and instead of a retort rising in him, he sees those high cheekbones, that flawless porcelain skin, those piercing gray eyes, and the words refuse to form.

\--------------------------------------

Potter isn’t talking to Draco anymore. Or really, Draco concedes, he’s not fighting with Draco anymore. They never really talked to begin with. Every time he sees Potter he can’t help but spit something out, but Potter’s no longer responding. He’s starting to realize that he… _misses_ those verbal sparring matches. 

It’s about three in the morning and Draco hasn’t been able to sleep at all. It’s like that sometimes. He just thinks and thinks and thinks and before he knows it, it’s morning. Tonight, Draco’s stomach is grumbling and he decides to grab a snack from the kitchens. He quietly gets out of bed and makes his way through the dimly lit common room towards the door. He’s creeping past one of the larger sofas when he trips over something big. And hard.

He swears and picks himself off the floor, turning around to see what he tripped over. It’s dark, but he can make out curls of black hair and knows immediately that it’s Potter.

“Potter, honestly, what the fuck-”

“Please just leave me alone. I’m not in the mood.” Potter’s voice is oddly strained and quiet, and Draco knows immediately that something is off. Without really knowing why, Draco starts walking over towards him and sits next to Potter on the floor.

“Potter,” he says again, but softly this time. “Why are you on the floor?”

“Please just leave me alone.”

Draco doesn’t know what to say to that. He should leave Potter alone. He should get up, and leave, and go to the kitchens for a snack. Or he should get up, and go back to his room. He certainly shouldn’t be here, sitting a foot away from Potter, on the floor, in the middle of the night. The silence is wound so tight it’s almost painful.

 _Get up_ , Draco tells his legs, but they don’t move. Draco sighs in defeat.

“I’ve been meaning to apologize to you.”

Potter looks up at him, baffled. Draco notices the tears drying in his eyes. He does not comment on them.

Draco clears his throat. “For everything, I mean. For being a dick to you all those years. For being… a Death Eater. There’s no excuse, I know, and you don’t need to forgive me, I just… I did what I thought was right. Which I now know was the exact opposite of right.”

Potter just stares at him.

“I meant to apologize to you after the trial, actually.”

Potter huffs out a half-laugh. “After the trial? You mean, when you _punched me in the face_?”

“Yes, that’s correct,” Draco says, giving a small smile. “You just looked… particularly punchable that day.” This time, Potter lets out a real laugh. “I guess I should apologize for this year too,” Draco continues. “I know I haven’t been pleasant. Something about you just always seems to bring out the worst in me.”

Draco hopes it sounds genuine, because it is, and not like an insult, which it’s not, and it’s the most he’s ever said to Potter civilly. He’s relieved when Potter finally replies. “Apology accepted, Malfoy. Although I’m pretty sure you’ve got quite a few more of those to give out to other people.”

“I know. I do. I’ve done some, already.”

“I know,” Potter says, almost kindly. “And I should apologize too… I was a dick to you as well. And I’ll never forgive myself for almost killing you.”

Draco’s brows furrow, and then he remembers the bathroom. He chuckles. “Water under the bridge. I did try to use an Unforgivable on you that day. Plus, after saving my life, I think we’re even.”

Potter just looks at him steadily. His hair is all over the place, and Draco can’t help but stare. “I wouldn’t call it even. Did I… did it leave scars?”

Draco snaps back into focus. “No,” he replies evenly. Potter heaves a sigh of relief. They sit in silence again, but this time it’s almost companionable.

“I had a nightmare,” Potter says after a few minutes. “That’s why I’m on the floor. It’s… grounding, no pun intended. I’m sorry for tripping you.”

Draco is shocked into silence for a moment. Harry Potter. Confiding in him. In the absolute dead of the night. “What was your nightmare about?” he tries to keep his voice steady.

“The war,” Potter answers, glancing at Draco. “I was in the Forbidden Forest, but this time I died for good. And I saw Voldemort kill everyone I love.”

Draco forces himself to breathe evenly. “How many times have you died, Potter?”

“Just two, I think. Well, I’m not sure if I really died as a baby or not. So maybe just one.”

In, out. In, out. Potter surely does not want to talk about his deaths with someone who supported his murderer.

“You’re alive now,” Draco says, feeling like he needs to remind him of this fact. “The people you love are, too.”

“Some of them.”

And again, what is Draco supposed to say? To Potter? His celebrity crush turned nemesis turned enemy turned spiteful classmate turned- what is this now? Confidant?

“I have nightmares too,” he finally settles on. “Mostly of getting the Mark. Sometimes the faces in our dungeon. But most nights I can’t sleep anyway.”

Potter nods. “Can’t get nightmares if you can’t fall asleep,” he says.

A few more minutes in silence pass, and when Draco looks over, Potter is asleep, slumped onto the floor.

Should Draco leave him there? A strange instinct is telling him to move Potter to the couch, but honestly Draco doesn’t know if he could lift him, and that’d certainly wake him up, and Potter had said how the floor was grounding.

In the end, Draco gets a blanket, tucks Potter in on the floor, and heads back to his room, wondering when he had started caring about Harry Fucking Potter. 

He doesn’t sleep.

\------------------------------------------------

Harry wakes up nearly every night with a nightmare. Sometimes he’s screaming, and Ron’s shaking him awake. Sometimes he just wakes up in a cold sweat, and heads to the common room to avoid waking Ron up. Sometimes he sits on the common room floor for hours, short of breath, trying to remind himself that it’s over. That he’s safe now. Ron’s safe. Hermione’s safe.

Since the night Malfoy had tripped over him, Harry finds Malfoy in the common room every night. 

“I’m up anyways,” Malfoy explained once. “Might as well have company.”

And Harry is baffled, but grateful, to have him there.

They talk about everything and nothing. Malfoy talks about growing up in the Manor. Harry talks about growing up with the Dursleys. When Harry tells him about living in the cupboard, Draco threatens to track down and kill Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. His face is all scrunched up and snooty and his cheeks are flushed and Harry wants to kiss him again.

One of the nights, Harry can’t help but grab Malfoy’s arm, where he knows the scars are. They don’t say anything. Harry just holds his forearm, gently, like it’s going to break. And when he lets go, Malfoy makes a stupid joke about three wizards and a pub and it’s like it never happened.

Malfoy’s not just decent these days, he’s funny, and quick, and doesn’t put up with any bullshit. 

Harry’s starting to realize that he doesn’t stand a chance. He’s well and truly fucked. He’s falling for Draco Malfoy, of all people. The one person he can never have. But they’re civil, they’re even- friends, he thinks, and it’s the most he could hope for.

The other eighth years notice the change between them, and point it out. “Well I’m not hexing you either, MacMillan” Malfoy retorts one day, during one of their mandatory socials. “Should I start?”

No one says anything about them after that.

It’s a game of Never Have I Ever that really tips Harry over the edge, though. It’s the end of October and the castle is decorated for Halloween and he’s been friends with Malfoy for almost a month now, and Vince has just announced that Hogwarts will be holding a Yule Ball. Harry’s trying not to think about Malfoy in dress robes, and focus on the game before him. 

“Never have I ever swam in the Black Lake,” Seamus says. Harry and a few others put a finger down.

“Never have I ever had sex with a woman,” Parkinson winks. The group lets out a laugh, by now used to her incessant need to turn the games in the sexual direction. A few put their fingers down.

“Never have I ever had sex with a man,” Goyle says with a grin. These past few weeks, he’s started talking more, and Harry’s growing to like him. He glances around the group as a few put fingers down. Hermione, Dean, Seamus, Susan, and... Harry gulps as Malfoy looks him in the eye while putting a finger down. Harry tries to read his expression, but it’s as blank as ever.

Malfoy’s just admitted to being gay. Or bi. Or whatever. He likes men. He’s attracted to men. Should Harry put a finger down? So Malfoy knows he likes men? But then everyone would know. And Harry definitely has _not_ had sex with a man. 

Zabini is up next. “Never have I ever _wanted_ to have sex with a man,” he says with a smirk. And there’s Harry’s chance. He looks back up at Malfoy, trying to keep his expression just as blank, and puts down a finger. Malfoy blinks, but otherwise doesn’t react. Of course he doesn’t. Why would he care? He’s hated Harry for eight years. He’s not going to like him like that, not after only a few weeks of friendship. Harry’s not sure why he thought coming out would mean anything would change between them.

But it certainly changes things in the group, as people notice Harry’s finger of confession. 

“Damn, Harry, since when are _you_ gay?!” Seamus cries.

“Hey, you’re taken, no hitting on Harry,” Dean shoves him lightly, and they lean into each other.

“Exciting news, Potter,” Pansy smirks. Harry’s not sure what _that_ means, but then Ron’s yelling at everyone to shut up about Harry’s sexuality, and the game continues.

Harry goes into Hermione’s room that night. Pansy’s gone and Ron is there, which is just what he’s hoping.

“I have to tell you something,” he starts.

“Sure, Harry, what’s going on?” Hermione looks concerned.

Harry groans. “I can’t believe I’m admitting this out loud… I like Malfoy.” 

Ron looks confused. “Yeah, mate, we know. We discussed this over a month ago.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Your crisis after kissing Malfoy? Remember that talk?”

“That was a talk about being _gay_ , Ron, not about liking Malfoy!”

Hermione is clearly holding in a laugh. “We thought it was both, Harry, sorry for not being clearer.”

“Wait, so you guys have _known_ that I liked Malfoy?”

“Yeah.” Ron rolls his eyes. “Since like, sixth year.”

“I haven’t liked Malfoy since sixth year!” Harry protests.

“Let me get this straight. You stalked him, for an _entire year_. You wouldn’t shut up about him, even when we were in the middle of forests and on the run. You _saved him from a fiery, burning death_ even though he was literally trying to kill you-”

“Well, technically Crabbe set off the-”

“ _Do you see my point?!_ ” Ron is almost shouting.

Harry feels exactly like he did when they told him he was gay. He sits down on Hermione’s bed in shock. “Oh my god,” he says. “Have I liked Malfoy since sixth year?”

“Yes, Harry,” Hermione answers softly. “Although, if we’re being honest, it was probably before then.”

“Well… what am I supposed to do now?”

Ron shrugs. “Ask him out?”

“What- I can’t just-”

“Well, you know he’s gay now, don’t you?”

“Just because he’s _gay_ doesn’t mean he likes me!”

“Well, you’ve been friendlier lately-”

“I’ve got an idea,” Hermione cuts Ron off.

And does she ever.

\----------------

Draco is edging into dangerous territory. He and Potter sit on the common room floor chatting nearly every night. And instead of snapping insults at each other, they’re snapping… well, they’re still snapping insults, really. But it’s lighthearted, and it makes Draco feel warm inside every time Potter calls him a tosser.

They don’t talk about the nightmares anymore, not since the first night, but Draco knows Potter is still getting them. Some nights, Potter just sits on the floor in silence, unresponsive to anything Draco says. Some nights he rubs Potter’s back until his breathing eases, until he falls asleep. At first, Draco tries hard to ignore the flutters he gets when Potter’s eyes shutter closed and his face is completely peaceful. 

But after a while, Draco gives up on disguising it. He likes Potter. Again. He wonders if he ever even stopped. 

They’ve taken to spending time together in the daytime, too. Draco can’t help but notice Potter’s strong hands as they repot plants in Herbology. The flex of his forearms as they race each other on the Quidditch pitch. The way Potter’s eyes close when he’s laughing too hard. The way he’s all grumpy in the morning, until Draco shoves a coffee his way. The way he snaps at younger students for looking at Draco in a bad way. The way he still needs to save everyone and everything, from a first year student who’s afraid to fly to Draco himself, when he gets stuck in the mud on the way back from Care of Magical Creatures.

They’re sitting together on the bank of the Black Lake one day, watching the waves crash in.

“I don’t want to be an Auror,” Potter admits.

“Good,” Draco replies. Potter’s already fought enough dark wizards. He deserves a calm, quiet life.

“But I don’t know what I _do_ want,” he continues.

“What about a teacher?” Draco suggests. “Didn’t you teach the Gryffindors how to duel, and all that?”

“A few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, too,” Potter replies. “And not just dueling. I dunno, I guess I enjoyed that. I don’t know if I really like kids, though.”

“You could be a potter,” Draco says with a smirk.

“I am a Potter.”

“No, have you tried pottery? You really should be trying to live up to your surname, don’t you think?”

Draco sees the moment Potter realizes what he’s saying, and the blank expression immediately turns to laughter. Soon Potter’s doubled over, head against his knees, and Draco can’t help but join in. The sun is glinting against the water and Potter’s laughter is loud and bright and Draco thinks he might be the happiest he’s ever been.

-

Every time he feels his stomach tightening when he looks at Potter, he immediately fixates on something else. The window. Granger and Weasley arguing about soup. Longbottom’s toad. Because there’s no chance Potter will ever like him back. Draco thinks back to the night where Potter admitted to liking men, staring Draco right in the eye as he put his finger down. And he immediately needs to look at his shoes. The hardwood floor. His potions textbook. It was just a coincidence, he reminds himself. Potter only looked at him because he was across from him. There’s nothing to it. Draco refuses to think about the kiss.

Potter could never be with him. Not after everything he’s done.

Draco is doing okay, though, all things considered. His grades are second only to Granger, although it’s not as impressive now that there are only fifteen students in their year. The socials are actually becoming enjoyable, and he’s starting to think not only of Potter as a friend, but Granger and the other Gryffindors, too. They’re almost charming, now that their determination and loyalty includes him, instead of being directed against him.

Everything is going just fine up until December. It’s the last social before the Yule Ball. Draco doesn’t have a date, but he doesn’t really mind, he’s actually looking forward to going with the other eighth years, as a group. And Potter doesn’t have a date, either. So at least he won’t be the only single one.

They’ve ended up playing Truth or Dare, which was inevitable, really. They always end up playing it at some point during these socials. Pansy usually starts it. She and Granger have unofficially become the leaders of the eighth year group, and they’ve become close friends, too. He never would have imagined.

It’s Potter’s turn for Truth or Dare, and he picks Draco. Draco’s eyebrows raise; they haven’t picked each other in any of these games since the night of the tripping. The night they started becoming friends.

“Dare.”

Potter bites his lip, and Draco has to look away. “I dare you…” Potter sounds almost nervous. “I dare you to go to the Yule Ball with me.”

Draco whips his head up to stare at Potter. He’s got a determined look on his face, and for one, glorious second, Draco thinks that Potter likes him back. That he’s got a chance. That Potter wants to go with him to the ball, as his date, because he likes him.

And then reality sets in. Potter would never ask him to the Ball romantically… which meant that after all these weeks of friendship, of getting along, Potter really was just stringing him along to play some sort of joke on him. Draco’s not going to fall for it. But he’s not going to back down from the dare, either.

“Fine,” he snaps. He doesn’t look at Potter the rest of the night.

-

Draco is nearly jumping out of his skin the night of the Ball. It’s been a week since the dare, and Draco’s been avoiding Potter since. He’s furious with himself for seriously believing Potter would ever become friends with him. He tries not to think about every interaction with Potter, with all of them, and how every kindness had just been leading up to this humiliation. Whatever it was. Whatever Potter had planned, Draco was ready for it. He deserves it, he thinks. He deserves to be tricked and shamed out of the eighth year friendships. He only wishes it didn’t hurt so much. Wishes Pansy and Greg hadn’t gone in on hurting him too. 

He’s holding out hope that maybe… maybe Pansy and Greg didn’t know about it. Maybe they really are still his friends.

There’s a knock on his door, and Potter’s voice. “Hey, Malfoy, are we doing this?”

And Draco gets his emotional shields up, ready for whatever torment Potter has in store.

And honestly, _fuck_ Potter, because, _look_ at him. Potter’s dress robes are perfectly tailored to his Quidditch-fit body. There’s a glint of emerald green woven through the edges of the fabric and Potter’s eyes look like jewels. Potter looks Draco up and down, and it looks like he’s hungry. Well, Draco thinks, there’ll be food at the ball. If they’re even going there.

They are, it seems. Potter’s holding onto Draco’s arm and leading them into the Great Hall, where music is already playing. It’s going to be some sort of humiliation in front of the entire school, then. Delightful.

“Would you care to dance?” Potter asks.

“Do I have a choice?” Draco drawls.

Potter’s brows furrow. “Of course you have a choice.”

“Well then, no. Thank you ever so kindly.”

Potter looks disappointed, and Draco thinks that whatever this prank is, it must have to do with dancing. He may have accepted that he deserves Potter’s punishment, but that doesn’t mean he’s going to walk into it willingly.

Draco follows Potter to the chaise lounge chairs towards the east side of the Great Hall. There’s a good amount of seating and most of it is already taken by couples. Potter grabs one of the larger ones and drags it away from the others, then sits down. He pats the seat next to him and Draco decides that sitting is probably harmless.

Potter keeps trying to make conversation.

“So, how have you been? We haven’t talked much this week.”

Draco just snorts.

A few minutes later: “Can I get you anything to eat or drink?”

Draco thinks that one needs no response. They sit in silence for a while, listening to the Hobgoblins play song after song. Weasley and Granger giggle their way over, and plop themselves down next to Potter.

“Are you guys enjoying yourselves?” Granger slurs with a smile. Did someone spike the pumpkin juice? Granger’s cheeks are flushed and she looks decidedly drunk. She doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing. “Ron and I just met _Stubby Boardman_ , can you believe it? He’s not performing tonight but he stopped by to visit McGonagall and he must be over a hundred years old-”

“He’s not _that_ old-” Weasley interrupts.

“When was Stubby Boardman born?” Granger looks around wildly, then shouts. “Does anyone know when Stubby Boardman was born?!”

Weasley puts his hand over her mouth. “He’s going to hear you-”

Draco zones out as they continue bickering. Potter’s laughing at them, but keeps glancing at Draco, as if to gauge his reaction. Draco ignores Potter and watches as people walk by, half dancing as they head to the drinks table. After what seems like hours but is probably only a few songs later, Granger and Weasley head back to the dance floor.

Potter clasps Draco’s shoulder as he stands up. “I’m going to get us drinks, okay?”

Draco purses his lips. “Trying to get me drunk, Potter?”

Potter laughs, then realizes Draco isn’t joking. “Oh, you mean it? I don’t think there’s alcohol in anything.” Draco looks pointedly at Granger, and Potter laughs again. “Hermione’s not drunk,” he says, then scrunches his forehead. “I don’t think she is, anyways,” he amends, then leaves to get drinks.

Draco has a perfect view of the table, so he sees Potter getting stopped about fifteen times on the way over. Everyone wants a word with the Saviour. Draco’s getting exhausted and he wishes Potter would just get whatever this is over with so he can go to bed.

Potter finally makes it back, holding two glasses of pumpkin juice. Draco takes his glass, but doesn’t drink it.

“Malfoy, what’s wrong? Is everything okay?” And how is Draco supposed to reply to that? He tries to scoff but it comes out as more of a cough. They sit in silence as the band plays on, Potter sipping his juice and glancing at Draco every few seconds. Students have started to trickle out of the Great Hall, but it’s still pretty full. 

After a while, Potter speaks again. “Look, Malfoy, you clearly don’t want to be here. Do you want to just go back to the common room?”

Draco narrows his eyes. Was Potter giving up already? He stands up, taking Potter’s question as an invitation to leave.

“Hey- wait!” Potter jogs after him. “Let me at least walk you back.”

Draco refuses to run through the castle, so he makes do with a brisk walk. Potter’s legs are shorter but he has no problem keeping up. They’re almost to the common room. Could the prank be waiting there for him? 

He sighs in relief when he finds the common room empty, and heads straight to his room.

“Malfoy, wait!” Draco doesn’t stop. “Malfoy please, just- Draco-”

Draco stops in his tracks. He turns around. _Draco_? What is Potter doing? “What do you want from me, Potter?”

“Draco, look, I’m sorry, I just- I know you had a terrible time tonight.” Potter has the audacity to look absolutely miserable. “I shouldn’t have made you come with me, I just…”

Potter takes a step towards him, then another. He’s so close. Too close. Draco can feel his warm breath on him. Draco should turn around. Back away. And then Potter leans forward, slowly, and before Draco can register what he’s doing, Potter’s left a soft kiss on his cheek.

“Good night, Draco.” Potter gives a small smile, and heads to his own room.

Draco reaches his hand up and places it over the spot where Potter had kissed him. Potter had _kissed his cheek_.

And Draco suddenly realizes just how completely wrong he had gotten it.

\--------------------------

Harry’s awake. Ron had stumbled into bed around three, and Harry had pretended to be asleep. He still is. He wishes he could go out to the common room and talk with Draco for the rest of the night but Draco hadn’t been there a single night this week and he certainly wouldn’t be there now, not after Harry had kissed him. His cheek. But still. It was mortifying. And Harry’s gotten to know Draco well enough the past few months to know that he won’t make fun of him for it, or gossip about it, but Harry’s still gone and ruined their friendship.

It’s nearly six in the morning when there’s a soft knock on the door. Harry walks quietly to open it, trying not to wake Ron.

Draco’s standing there, his bright hair mussed for once and his pale skin stark against his black pyjamas. His grey eyes are storming.

“I dare you,” Draco says, voice husky, “to come to Hogsmeade with me.”

Harry’s jaw drops. “Now?”

“Now.”

Harry doesn’t even think to change out of his pyjamas, either. He just grabs his glasses and shoes and follows Draco out of the common room and through the castle. Light is starting to leak through the east windows. As they walk down the pathway to Hogsmeade, the sun is rising and the sky is a beautiful lilac-pink.

Harry doesn’t know what Draco’s doing. But he’s here, and Harry needs to be the Gryffindor that he is, and be honest about... well, everything.

“I’m sorry again,” he says as they amble down the path. The light is reflecting off the snow and Harry has to squint. “I shouldn’t have dared you to go to the Ball with me. It was Hermione’s idea.”

“What?” Draco gives him a sharp look.

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “See, I have this big stupid crush on you, and she thought if I dared you then you’d go, and I was thinking, maybe I could dance with you, and maybe ask you out.” Harry sighs. “But with our truth or dare crowd, of course daring you was basically forcing you to go with me, and I would never want to force you to do anything, ever, I just… like you. A lot.”

“Harry, I-”

“No, I’m having an honest moment here, let me keep going,” Harry interrupts. “I think you should schedule a session with Healer Vincent.”

“You think _I_ need a Mind Healer? Potter, you have nightmares every single night. _You_ need to schedule a session with Healer Vincent.”

“I have,” Harry replies, unashamed. “I’ve been going since the start of the year. It’s helped loads.”

“But you still have nightmares every night, you’re always out in the common room on the floor and-”

“I don’t have them every night anymore,” Harry tells him. “I do still get them. But not as often. I’m in the common room every night because I want to spend time with you.”

“You-” Draco stops. “ _Oh_. Oh, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Pretty pathetic, no?”

“Harry, that’s not pathetic, I-”

Something warm starts curling up in Harry’s chest as he realizes. “You called me Harry.”

Draco looks surprised. “Yes, I suppose I did.”

“It was nice,” Harry says, still feeling the need for complete and utter honesty.

“Can we get back to the part where you… like me?”

Harry sighs. “I thought I made myself clear. But yes. I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time, turns out.”

“I like you too.”

“You… what?”

“I like you, Harry.”

Harry lets out a sharp breath. “No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

They’re turning into Hogsmeade now. None of the shops are open but a few early birds are out walking dogs. No one seems to notice them.

“You don’t like me,” Harry tells him. “You… think I have a punchable face. You were miserable at the ball-”

“I was miserable at the ball because I thought you were leading up to some cruel prank. I would have deserved it. I’ve done awful things. Things so awful I never could have imagined that you’d like me back. Until you kissed me. But for the record, I’ve liked you since… first year, probably.”

Harry takes in a quick breath. “You… I’ve liked you since sixth year at least, but probably earlier. Draco, you don’t deserve cruelty. You did terrible things. And you’ve apologised. And you’re making up for them every day. Don’t you think I see how you go out of your way to help others? Hermione would be the only person in our year passing potions besides you if you weren’t helping us all with our NEWTS. You’ve stayed awake, comforting me when I have nightmares and talking with me all night when I don’t. How am I supposed to not fall in love with you?”

And now Draco gasps softly, and now they’re stopped in the middle of the road. “You do have a punchable face,” Draco says. “It’s also a face I’d like to kiss.”

“You could do both,” Harry says, not really thinking, only able to focus on Draco’s soft pink lips.

“Kinky, Potter.”

“Oh, I can do kinky.” Harry hears what he’s said and immediately blushes, but is rewarded by Draco’s beautiful laugh.

Harry takes a step closer, and they’re inches apart. And Harry doesn’t think he can wait another second, but still, he asks, “Can I kiss you now?”

Draco leans forward and erases the distance between them, brushing their lips together. Harry gasps and puts his hand along Draco’s jaw, kissing him back with everything he is. Draco’s pulling Harry in from the small of his back and tangling his fingers in Harry’s hair and Harry’s never felt so full, and happy, and alive.

When they pull away, Harry is mesmerized by Draco’s beaming smile. He’s never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life.

“I remember you saying something about asking me out?” Draco’s clearly trying to smirk, but it keeps pulling into a grin.

“Hey, Draco,” Harry ventures, as casually as he can muster. “Fancy being my boyfriend?”

And Draco asked for it, but his cheeks still flush, much to Harry’s delight.

“Fine,” Draco replies, cooly, but his smile is as bright as ever. “I suppose that would be alright.”

They miss all their classes that day, and get quite the scolding from McGonagall, and a detention with it, but neither can stop smiling. Not a single person is surprised when they tell the other eighth years they’re dating. 

And sometimes the nightmares come. And sometimes there are sleepless nights. But most days, and most nights, Harry is happy, cuddled up with Draco, legs and fingers tangling in time with their hearts. And eighth year turns out to be the best year of his life.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my first fic written but it's the first I've actually posted (again, huge thanks to [Val](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValravnFeathers/profile) for giving me the confidence to put this out into the world). I just wanted these boys to finally get the help they need to have happy, normal, lives, I wanted them to fall in love, I wanted them to have a happy ending. This fic kind of spilled out of my fingertips.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! Any kudos/comments are greatly appreciated. Also, I'm on [tumblr](https://bisexualronaldweasley.tumblr.com/)!


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